Ranger
by Knight of the Realm
Summary: After experiencing a horrific battle, a young Eldar Ranger yearns to fill the void in his soul, to find a cure for his suffering. Will he finally sate his wanderlust, or lose himself in the Path of the Outcast?
1. Chapter 1

Hello, everyone! I just bought my new Eldar Codex and was having a read through it. The background and information provided for the Eldar Outcasts and Rangers were particularly interesting to me, and inspired me to write this piece of fiction. I try to be as accurate as I can, but the Warhammer universe is so vast, it's almost impossible to make everything right. So please, if you see any glaring deficiencies in my story, please tell me about it so I can fix it as soon as possible! Read and review!

**Ranger**

**Chapter 1**

For as long as he could remember, Aelemar had dreamed of the outside world, an entire universe of wondrous and terrifying places to explore and experience, free from the rigid restraints and complications of Eldar society. As a child, he had wandered the cold wraith-bone interior of Craftworld Kaelor, his home, always feeling as if he was somehow being cheated out of something by being confined to Kaelor's interior and not being allowed to roam free throughout the stars.

Aelemar had always admired the Eldar Aspect Warriors; his own father had been a Dire Avenger, but the warriors he looked to above all else were the Rangers. Whenever a group of Rangers visited his Craftworld, fresh from their latest journeys, Aelemar had always followed them around, listening to their exciting tales of adventure and danger as they traveled throughout the galaxy. Many of the Rangers had traveled for decades, honing their skills in countless battles and skirmishes. To him, the Rangers, in their dirtied cloaks and dented armor, represented something he desired greatly: freedom.

The Craftworld Farseers had said that the Rangers often told romanticized versions of their exploits; that the actual galaxy was far more dangerous and grim than they made it out to be. Aspirations to become a Ranger were often frowned upon by the more experienced members of Eldar society, for many of the young Eldar who set out to become a Ranger never return, weakening the already dwindling Eldar population further. But despite the warnings, it didn't take Aelemar long before he too wished to become one of these expert marksmen, these rogues who lived on the edge of Eldar society: a Ranger.

As he grew older, nearing his three hundredth year of life, he made his decision. While most of his friends and peers took the Path of the Warrior, joining the various Aspect Shrines, he chose the Path of the Outcast, the way of the Ranger. He had bid farewell to his friends and family, and had spent many long hours readying himself for his new life. On the date marking his three hundred years of life, his final preparations had been made and he was ready.

"You're a fool," Amawyn had told him, her crystal blue eyes brimming with despair and tears streaming down her cheeks, as she and Aelemar had stood alone together before he left. "A fool to become a Ranger. There is nothing for you out there but a friendless death, alone and forgotten on some unknown world."

She had begged him repeatedly to stay, but his choice was made. His heart had been heavy for the life he was leaving behind, but he was young and energetic; he had prepared for this moment his entire life. Aelemar had given her one final kiss and left, ready for his new life as a Ranger.

In the years following that bitter-sweet departure, Aelemar had indeed traveled far and wide across the galaxy. He had experienced oozing swamps, majestic mountains, and giant oceans, as well as the reek of burning flesh, the smell of blood, and the screams of the dead and dying.

Aelemar had often asked himself, as he lay resting on some dirty back-water world, if he had made the right choice. The path of the Ranger had unlimited freedom and possibilities, but was this itself a reward, or a burden? It was a question he still couldn't answer.

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_50 years later- on the Imperial controlled planet of Jhorus II_

The squad of Ultramarines paused at the city's outskirts; their shining blue armor was smeared with caked mud and dried blood from previous engagements. Even though they wore bulky power armor, Aelemar could tell by their body language that they were tense. Five of them fanned the ruined city surrounding them, searching for signs of their enemy, while the Sergeant paused, lifting his bolter and scanning the city as if he was hunting for something.

The Sergeant _was_ hunting them, Aelemar thought, but they too were hunting the Ultramarines. He and six of his fellow Rangers, various Eldar he had met and befriended on his many journeys across the galaxy, were scattered throughout the ruined city, waiting in hidden positions, targeting the Space Marines. They only awaited his signal.

Already feeling the adrenaline pumping in his veins, Aelemar let out a slow, calming breath and adjusted his sights slightly, turning one of the several intricate knobs on his Long Rifle. His rifle scope zoomed in, magnifying the Sergeant's scarred face as if he was standing directly in front of the Ranger.

Aelemar's breath slowed, his finger itching on the trigger, tensing for action. He had done this a hundred times, but somehow it always felt as if he was doing it for the first time. He knew that his fellow Eldar were tensed for action, on the breaking point, ready for the coming fight.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Aelemar was distracted by a small pile of rubble falling from Jaellar's position, landing at the base of the building with several loud thuds. With a feeling of panic, Aelemar realized that one of the Marines had noticed and was eyeing Jaellar's hidden position with renewed interest. As the Space Marine raised his bolter to fire, Aelemar quickly switched his aim from the Sergeant to the Marine threatening Jaellar's life. Aiming for the neck armor of the mon-keigh warrior, Aelemar squeezed the trigger and hoped he hit the jugular.

Before the sound of the rifle shot had begun to fade, before the spray of oxygenated red blood filled the air from the Marine's ruined throat, seven other shots cracked out, dropping two more of the Ultramarines. Even before the muzzle flash of the Rangers' Long Rifles had died away, the Space Marines were returning fire, scrambling behind fallen pieces of stone masonry for cover, shouting out orders and praises to their Emperor. The steady beat of bolter fire rattled across the area, their explosive rounds carving out pieces of the steel buildings like a knife through butter.

As the firefight grew hotter, the Space Marines got a lucky hit; Aelemar heard a keening cry off to his left from his friend Lahresh, who was clutching a hole in his stomach, his gloved hands turning red from his blood. The Ultramarines noticed the new target, and focused fire. Lahresh, already mortally wounded, endured another barrage of bolter rounds that left tatters of flesh and a pool of blood in his place.

Enraged at Lahresh's death, the Eldar Rangers continued to pour volley after volley into the Space Marines, but their power armor held firm against the onslaught, and the Rangers' efforts only revealed their position to the Marines as the muzzle flashes from their long rifles temporarily illuminated the Eldar to the Ultramarines. Another cry of pain, and Aelemar saw Zanrah topple from the rooftop he was perched upon, a stiletto of bolter rounds patterning his light armor in blood.

More fire from the five remaining Rangers dropped another Space Marine, the human clutching his right eye visor in agony as blood streamed freely from the wound. The other Space Marine fired blindly, not knowing where his hidden enemies were, hoping that he would score a lucky shot. A trio of rounds finally managed to penetrate his power armor and kill the human, staining his bright blue armor red.

An eerie silence settled over the city with the death of the last Ultramarine. The skirmish apparently over, the Eldar Rangers began to emerge from their positions, but Aelemar signaled them to stay still. He quickly scanned the battlefield, but only noticed five Space Marine bodies… where was the Sergeant? His question was answered in a moment as he heard a strangled cry of surprise. Aelemar turned fast enough to see the Sergeant striking Yvhorl with his power fist. With an explosion of blood and bile, Yvhorl's body was gone, leaving only a large splatter of blood on the walls. Breathing deeply, the Sergeant looked up- and stared directly into Aelemar's eyes, only yards away. With a roar, the mon-keigh charged at Aelemar, brandishing his power fist.

Aelemar snapped up his rifle, putting two shots into the Sergeant's armor, but not penetrating. In seconds, the Space Marine would be on him, and all that would remain of his body would be bits of flesh and pools of blood. Throwing aside his Long Rifle, Aelemar whipped out his Shuriken pistol and fluidly depressed the trigger, releasing hundreds of shards in seconds at the oncoming Space Marine.

The shuriken smattered and ricocheted off of the Sergeant's armor, but many found their mark and penetrated his unprotected face. Howling in pain, blinded by his own blood, the Sergeant still charged, flailing with his power fist in the hopes that he would take Aelemar down with him. Not having enough time to dive aside, Aelemar braced himself, hoping against hope that he would survive.

Before the Sergeant could disembowel Aelemar, a shot rang out, drilling the Sergeant clearly through the head and causing the Marine to crumple in a heap, finally taken down. Aelemar stared down at the dead Marine at his feet in disbelief, his heart beating rapidly. Releasing his helmet catch and letting the cold air flow across his sweaty face, Aelemar felt his knees buckle, battle exhaustion finally taking him. The Sergeant's power fist still crackled with energy, a reminder of how close Aelemar had been to a messy death.

Jaellar stepped over the Space Marine's body, his long rifle still smoking from the shot. "Thought I'd repay you for saving my life earlier," Jaellar grinned at Aelemar, extending his hand. Aelemar took it and allowed Jaellar to hoist him to his feet.

The battlefield was still now. The smoking city, only hours before full of the sounds of warfare, was now eerily quiet. Slowly, cautiously, the remaining Rangers left their positions and approached Aelemar and Jaellar.

Aelemar examined his remaining comrades with sorrow. The battle with the Adeptus Astartes had cost them nearly half their number. Grief stricken faces stared at Aelemar, and their weapons hung loosely at their sides as the Rangers contemplated their losses. Aelemar suppressed his own feelings of guilt; he was the leader of the group, and it was he who was responsible for the deaths of three of his Rangers, friends he had known and fought together with for years in countless battles.

"The mon-keigh will be swarming over this city by nightfall. We have obeyed the Farseer's orders as best as we could. We must retreat and regroup with the main force."

Aelemar turned away from his squad and felt a sudden emptiness within him as he conveyed his next orders. "We cannot be burdened with excess weight. Take the spirit stones of our fallen and leave the bodies."

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The cause for the struggle between the Eldar and Imperium over Jhorus II was a millennia old Eldar Warp Gate. The Eldar Farseers of Craftworld Kaelor had recently become aware that the Dark Eldar would soon find this gate and attempt to use it to transport their troops and slavers from Commorragh to ravage the planet. The ignorant mon-keigh, mistaking the Dark Eldar raiders for Eldar, would begin retaliatory attacks on Craftworld Kaelor. It is a fate that was not especially desired by the Eldar Farseers.

Despite having left his Craftworld nearly half a century ago, Aelemar still felt a strong sense of duty and loyalty to his home. He was one of the many who answered the Farseers' call to delay the Imperial troops as they attempted to permanently close the warp gate.

After arriving on the planet nearly a week ago, Aelemar and his Rangers had spent all of their time in the ruins of the once mighty capital city, holding out against the Imperial troops to buy the Farseers more time. With nearly half of their number gone, Aelemar and his Rangers withdrew from the destroyed city under cover of darkness, attempting to locate and regroup with the main Eldar force.

"The Warp-Gate is due south, nearly five miles away," Jaellar told Aelemar in a whisper, as the squad of Rangers stealthily made their way through the dense forests of Jhorus II. "There, the main force of Eldar has established defensive positions to protect the Farseers." Jaellar smiled grimly. "They are under heavy fire. If we want to link up with them and escape this cursed place, we may need to kill a few more mon-keigh before the night is over."

As the night dragged on and the Rangers progressed further, they came into more and more frequent contact with Imperial Guard patrols. Fortunately, the darkness of the night and their Camoleoline cloaks saved them from several unnecessary engagements. The rumble of artillery from the human Basilisks occasionally lit up the night sky, and Aelemar often found himself wondering how the small task force of Eldar could possibly stand up to such a barrage.

For hours, the Rangers traveled ceaselessly, fighting combat exhaustion and avoiding Imperial troops. As the night hours began to wane, and rays of light began to shine over the horizon, the exhausted Rangers crested a ridge, stumbling from exhaustion and battle-fatigue. A sudden noise emanating from the surrounding foliage immediately put the Rangers on alert, warily swinging their rifles around as they searched for their hidden foes.

"We are not your enemies, fellow Eldar," spoke an Eldar warrior, as he emerged from the dense underbrush. Aelemar felt a surge of relief in him as he recognized the warrior's armor; a Striking Scorpion. Several more of the Scorpions emerged from behind the first one, weapons lowered as they realized that the Rangers were not an Imperial Guard patrol.

"We have delayed the mon-keigh at their city for as long as we could," Aelemar announced, "But we were overwhelmed and forced to fall back. How fares the Farseers in their efforts to close the gate?"

The Striking Scorpion's shoulders seemed to sag, and Aelemar could imagine that behind his helmet, the warrior was grimacing. "The Farseers are almost done closing the gate. Our Dark Kin will be denied access to this world, and in return, Craftworld Kaelor will not suffer the fury of the human battle fleets. However, this has come at a great price; ninety percent of our original force has been destroyed, the greatest loss our Craftworld has seen in decades." The Striking Scorpion unhooked his diamond-studded chain sword from his equipment belt and beckoned for the Rangers to follow him. "We shall make sure that the deaths of thousands of our kin have not been in vain."

As the Rangers and Striking Scorpions moved swiftly through the battlefield, the full scope of destruction became evident; charred husks of Imperial tanks and graceful Eldar Falcons now littered the area, their smoking ruins partially blocking out the sun's light. Thousands of human and Eldar bodies lay strewn together throughout the area, a testament to the ferocious fighting enacted by both sides. Craters from artillery blasts and bloody limbs, separated from their owners, littered the landscape, which seemed to be devoid of all life.

"The Imperials have fallen back to regroup," the Striking Scorpion explained, as they vaulted over a destroyed Eldar fortification. "The foolish mon-keigh seem to think that we are using the Warp-gate to transport troops to this world, when we are doing just the opposite by shutting it down. By the time they begin another assault, we should be finished with this business and on transport ships back to Kaelor."

As the Striking Scorpions and Rangers approached the Eldar defensive perimeter, Aelemar noticed a thin string of hastily constructed obstacles, housing many Eldar warriors behind them. Dominating the scene was the enormous Warp-gate, which the Farseers were busily trying to close down. The Warp-gate was surrounded by a hazy golden glow, and the sigils and runes carved on it were glowing brightly, a sign of its immense power and potential. With the exception of the Farseers' chanting, the entire area was still. The Eldar stood completely silent behind their last defensive positions, quietly observing as the Striking Scorpions and Rangers finally made it back to the Eldar position.

As soon as the Rangers and Striking Scorpions had made it safely back into the Eldar fortifications, the Warp-gate began to emit a high-pitched whining noise. Heads turned to watch as the Farseers struggled to control the gate's power. As the sigils and runes on the Warp-gate flashed and blinked dangerously, a rumbling that that rolled over the entire congregation was heard, emanating from the gate. The Farseers were swaying, still chanting and making arcane runes and symbols in the air.

Another loud rumbling from the distance, followed by explosions only yards away from the Eldar position, added to the Warp-gate's sound, as the Imperial Guard resumed their counter attack. Focus returned abruptly to the Eldar warriors, determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible, as their enemies appeared. Hordes of Imperial Guard, escorting their smoke-belching tanks and crude walkers, descended upon the Eldar defense like a ravening plague. Las shots slammed into the wraithbone-constructed fortifications as the Eldar returned fire, shuriken shards ripping into the minimally armored Imperial Guard. Aelemar and his Rangers sought cover, their Camoleoline cloaks constantly changing hue to match their environment. Whipping out his Long Rifle, Aelemar carefully tracked his target- an Imperial Commissar, before pulling the trigger, giving the human a quick and merciful death with a shot to the head. His Rangers responded in kind, unflinching even as las shots buzzed uncomfortably close around their heads.

The humans were closing with the Eldar. Several of the Aspect Warriors had been hit, but their armor protected most of them from death. The Eldar troops continued to put up a stiff wall of shuriken fire, supplemented by support battery platforms and the few remaining Falcon tanks. Hundreds of Guardsmen fell, slaughtered mercilessly by the Eldar war machine, only to be replaced by more. The Imperial tanks spat explosive death into the ranks of the Aspect Warriors, riveting the Eldar lines with red-hot fireballs and enormous explosions. Before the smoke had cleared from the exploded rounds, hundreds of humans streamed through, bayonets fixed, screaming and whooping as they charged towards the Eldar positions.

Abandoning their long range firepower and resorting to close combat, the Eldar's defense intensified into a desperate melee grapple as the first elements of the Imperial Guard assault force dueled with the Eldar in close combat. Striking Scorpions gracefully danced around their attackers, swinging their chain swords in whirring circles of destruction, while the psychic screams of the Howling Banshees tormented the mon-keigh troops, many of whom were crying in pain as their ear drums ruptured in spools of blood. The Dire Avengers, not as well equipped for close combat but still vastly superior to their human opponents, beat down guardsmen after guardsmen without mercy with the butt of their Avenger Catapults.

As Aelemar was searching for a new target of opportunity, a psychic bolt of energy lashed out, frying an entire platoon of Guardsmen in a frenzy of energy and power. Energized, Aelemar looked up- and saw the Farseers brandishing their Witchblades and Singing Spears, lashing out at the mon-keigh with psychic energy. They had managed to close the Warp-gate! Almost as soon as he realized this, a shadow fell across the battlefield. Aelemar looked upwards- and saw a small group of swift Eldar ships already descending to rescue as many survivors as possible. The Eldar had abandoned their close combat struggle and had already begun their retreat into the spacecraft, firing wildly as they ran. The Rangers abandoned their position, running quickly toward the nearest craft, feeling a wave of relief and hope that they might actually survive.

Sprinting as fast as he could towards the nearest craft, Aelemar yelled encouragement to his squad. After all they had endured on this miserable mon-keigh planet, they still might have a chance of survival! Aelemar glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure that his squad was following- and froze in horror. In terrifyingly slow-motion, he saw a shell fired from an Imperial tank, flying high in the air, shrieking loudly as it began its descent. Aelemar screamed wildly to his Rangers to take cover, but they were too late; the explosion tossed Aelemar aside like a rag doll as he desperately tried to jump away from the blast.

A wave of heat passed over him as he was hurled bodily through the air. Landing with a thump, Aelemar groaned in pain as his head slammed into the ground. His mind spinning from the shell-shock, Aelemar felt oddly weak and numb as he tried to get up. Stumbling, he tasted blood in his mouth and felt a pool of bile in the back of his throat, as he fell onto his hands and knees. He felt a pair of strong hands grab his shoulders, pulling him away from the battle and the carnage. Everything was moving so slow for him. He observed with cold detachment the mutilated bodies of hundreds of Eldar and humans, watched in slow motion as las shots whizzed past his face. He tried to say something, but his tongue felt oddly heavy- he wanted to ask the Eldar who were pulling him where his Rangers were. Eyes drooping, Aelemar tried one last time to look around for his squad, but the only thing he could see was an impenetrable darkness, a fog clouding his vision.

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So, how was it? Not too bad, I hope. Chapter 2 will be up soon, read and review!


	2. Chapter 2

Maugen Ra- Thanks for the review! If you read closely, the Striking Scorpion is telling the Rangers that the Farseers have _almost_ closed the gate. :)

Verystrangest- I appreciate the advice. I was thinking of a platoon containing about 20 men, but I realize now that they are substantially larger (30-50 men, at least in the U.S. and British armies; I'm not sure about the Imperial Guard!) Still, in the Codex it states that Eldar Farseers are capable of busting battle tanks with their mind powers, so they're not always subtle attacks!

I imagine it must be difficult to write as a human from what seems to us as an utterly alien and strange view, but I'm doing my best! It would help if you could give me some advice as to how I could make the Eldar appear "less human".

Death Korps- Hope you like the next chapter.

Jedi Master Sabbath- Thanks, I've been browsing the site for a couple of months, but was disappointed by the lack of Eldar stories. Hope you like the next chapter!

Z- Was it that obvious:)

Mashirafen Kytt- Thanks! Hope you like this chapter.

Just as a heads up, Chapter 2 has much less action than Chapter 1 and is more focused on informing you of Aelemar and his return to Craftworld Kaelor.

**Chapter 2**

_The faint rattle of gunfire and distant screams filled the air. Aelemar looked around him, unsure of where he was, what he was doing. A dense fog surrounded him, preventing Aelemar from seeing farther than a couple feet away. As he took a tentative step forward into the dark, he stumbled on something, falling heavily to the ground. Pushing himself to his knees, he realized that the floor was wet with red slime; the metallic tang of blood was in his mouth, and the air was thick with the smell of decomposing flesh. Looking behind him for the object he had tripped over, Aelemar felt suddenly nauseated as he realized what it was. Directly behind him was the mutilated body of an Eldar Ranger, its limbs torn and flesh lacerated with horrible wounds._

_Unwilling, horrified, but compelled by an almost perverse fascination, Aelemar struggled to his feet, forcing himself to look at the corpse and suppress the urge to vomit. Its legs and arms had been blown off of the body, but the head was still barely attached to the neck. The glassy, emotionless eyes stared back at Aelemar, and he felt a second wave of nausea as he recognized the dead Eldar._

_Lahresh, blown apart by Space Marine bolter fire during the city skirmish…_

_Horrified, salty tears of rage and despair burning his eyes, Aelemar turned- only to find that the fog had disappeared, revealing another mutilated body. And another. And another. Before him, the corpses of his Rangers lay spread in a line of blood and gore, their bodies convulsed in their final death throes, their faces full of pain and agony, captured in their last moments of life._

_Tears falling freely now, Aelemar began to weep, and felt a tug on his cloak. At first, a small pull, like a child begging for attention, until it became more forceful. Unwilling to see another of his dead friends, but unable to ignore the invisible pleas, Aelemar turned, gasping in horror as the cadaver revealed itself._

_Jaellar was standing there, his face a tragic mask portraying the immense suffering he endured during his death. Or, what was left of his face. The left portion had been blown completely off, the blood and brains oozing sickeningly down his side in a steady trickle. Jaellar held Aelemar with pleading eyes, opened his mouth to speak- but nothing but a river of blood came out. Closing his eyes, Jaellar shook his head once and fell back into oblivion. The corpses disappeared into the dark, leaving Aelemar to himself._

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With a gasp, Aelemar shot bolt upright, sweat mingling with his tears as he woke from his dream. Breathing heavily, it took him a few seconds to calm down- but his eyes still darted around his quarters, checking if the ghosts of his Rangers were hiding in the darkened alcoves.

Sighing, Aelemar closed his eyes and wiped his sweaty brow. Ever since the battle on Jhorus II nearly a week ago, he had been having the same recurring nightmares. The Healers had managed to mend his physical wounds well, but the emotional stress he was suffering was a battle he would have to fight himself.

Getting up from his cot and unsteadily onto his feet, Aelemar swayed for a minute before he became used to the ship's motion. He had been on Eldar craft many times before, but it was always a new sensation for him. Aelemar looked forward to the moment when the Eldar fleet would dock with Craftworld Kaelor in the next day or two. Until then, he would have to be content with his small quarters and haunting nightmares; nightmares that were aggravated by the travel through space and the warp.

Staggering out of his room, still wearing his dirty cloak and armor, Aelemar wandered aimlessly throughout the darkened Eldar ship, occasionally hearing faint echoes from the voices of Eldar who had not yet fallen asleep. Passing a porthole, Aelemar paused in his rounds to view the beautiful and terrifying expanse of space, a realm full of wonders and secrets. He remembered his old ambitions of fifty years ago, when he was young and inexperienced and had not known better.

_Was it worth it?_

He remembered Amawyn's parting words to him on that fateful day so long ago. He had brushed aside her warnings, confident that his youth and eagerness would be all he needed to survive.

_Was it worth it?_

Memories of battle, of bloodshed, of carnage flooded through his mind. The reek of freshly spilled blood, the twisted ruins of vehicles, the shredded bodies of his friends.

His Rangers.

_Was it worth it?_

"No," Aelemar whispered to himself, clenching a railing until his knuckles turned white. "I was a fool to become a Ranger."

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Walking out of the docking bay, Aelemar was temporarily blinded by the Craftworld's artificially produced light that contrasted so drastically with the darkness of the Eldar spacecraft. As the Aspect Warriors departed from their crafts, a large crowd of Eldar was gathered close by, waiting, waiting. It was not often that such a large war host of Eldar was called into battle; the tension in the air was palpable as the assembled Eldar strained to see the returning warriors. They had returned victorious, but at a heavy price.

Returned at last to their Craftworld, the Aspect Warriors removed their war helmets, holding their weapons loosely at their sides. Families rejoiced as they were again reunited with their warrior kin; many more were the Eldar who waited in torment for someone who would never return home.

Knowing that he was not needed here, not wanted, Aelemar quickly made his way through the crowd, hoping to get away from the mourning masses. He had no definite idea of where he was going- it had been so long since he had last tread here- but he wanted to get away from all contact.

Finally freeing himself from the throng, Aelemar was momentarily confused- everything seemed so unfamiliar to him, and he suddenly realized that he had no idea of where he was in the Craftworld. Such a long time spent away from the place had made him as much a stranger to it as a mon-keigh. Walking slowly down strange marble staircases and through crowded streets, Aelemar was distracted from memories of his comrades' deaths by the glory and beauty of Craftworld Kaelor. He marveled at the wraithbone constructs and the graceful crystal trees that swayed above the heads of other Eldar- oblivious to the joys that surrounded them. Perhaps it took his long years of journeying

to fully appreciate his home- he remembered no such feelings of affection as a child.

The Craftworld's structures not only entertained Aelemar's eye, but the people too. He gazed at other Eldar in fascination; in his long wanderings, the only Eldar he had seen were in battle dress. But here, the civilians, the artisans, and even the technicians- they dressed much more informally, in colorful robes and elaborate jewelry. They were light in their steps, carrying on with their daily activities, so familiar with their home. The clear, elegant chatter of hundreds rattled in his ears, a welcome relief from the noise of gunfire and screams.

They too, glanced back at Aelemar, but their eyes conveyed only feelings of suspicion and fear. Aelemar knew that many Eldar regarded Rangers as disruptive, convincing more and more of their children to take to the Path of the Outcast. To make matters worse, the Rangers, who spent long years away from the psychic protection of their Craftworlds, were particularly vulnerable to the predations of She-who-thirsts, Slannesh, the Chaos God who had decimated the Eldar race millennia ago. For these reasons, Rangers were only welcome for a few weeks in the Craftworlds, before they were forced to leave or change to a different Path that was in accordance with Eldar principles. Civilians shied away from him, wary of his dirty garments, so radically different from the sleek and clear colors of the traditional Eldar warrior gear.

As Aelemar continued to wander throughout his now un-familiar home, he paused to stop and stare at a group of Eldar Dire Avengers as they passed, walking in a group, talking amongst themselves. How fine and mighty their shining blue dress looked, compared to his ragged cloak and mud-caked armor! Not for the first time in his life, Aelemar stopped to think how his life would have been different if he had never become a Ranger.

"You knew full well the perils of becoming a Ranger, or at least you thought you did. There is no going back on what had already transpired."

That voice… it filled Aelemar with terror and excitement. It had been so long… could it still be?

"You have come through much blood-shed and toil, and have seen the universe you once sought so eagerly. Now that you have experienced both ends of the spectrum, can you tell your mind what your heart is thinking?"

He knew that voice, had often dreamed about the voice and its speaker. He had thought it lost forever to him, like everything else on this Craftworld.

Aelemar turned slowly around, a feeling of anxiety fluttering in his stomach. Waiting behind him, she stood there, exactly as he remembered her from so long ago. Lithe, beautiful, and supremely confident, wearing the flowing garments of a Seer. Unlike Aelemar's dirty-blonde hair, hers was a radiant golden, flowing down across her shoulders. Exactly as he remembered.

"Amawyn," Aelemar acknowledged, bowing slightly to her. "I see that the Craftworld Farseers have recognized your psychic potential. You have chosen the Path of the Witch?"

"Yes," she answered simply, her bright blue eyes burning into his soul. He felt her mind brushing against his, reading his thoughts and memories of fifty years. Unbidden, unwanted, memories from his past, memories that he had almost forgotten, flowed through his mind once more, creating a picture show inside his head. He felt his heart flutter as he stood alone with Amawyn, smiling in joy, so long ago. He knew fear as he watched himself in his first battle with an enormous Ork that had nearly disemboweled him in the primeval swamps of an ancient planet. He relived a moment of glory when he had jumped atop an Imperial tank in a moment of bravado, blowing open its hatch and gunning down the crew mercilessly, the excitement of combat pumping through his body. He smiled as he remembered meeting his Rangers for the first time; he wept as their deaths on Jhorus II were replayed over and over again.

The expression on her face softened as she watched his painful memories, as if she felt pity or sadness for him. "I am sorry," she finally said, and he did not ask her to clarify what she was sorry for. He turned away from her, feeling a hollow sensation in his chest, and began to walk away. She did not follow him, but he knew that they would meet again.

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With the Craftworld's light dimmed, the dark atmosphere realistically simulated the night and day cycles, as if the Craftworld was an actual planet, instead of an enormous wraithbone construct. Having wandered aimlessly, lost, for hours during the day, Aelemar welcomed the night hours of the Craftworld. There were very few Eldar around, allowing him to be alone with his thoughts and feelings.

Lying down underneath a giant, crystal tree, his sleeping quarters for the night, Aelemar cast aside his weapons, closing his eyes in exhaustion. He was confused; after the agonizing pain and guilt he felt during the aftermath of Jhorus II, he now only felt numb, cold to the outside world. He felt a void inside him; it hurt, and he knew it would continue to grieve him until he found a cure for his pain, if there even was one. Without the sights and sounds of a busy Eldar Craftworld during the day, his haunting nightmares were free to torment him at their leisure during the night. Once again, he saw the faces of his friends, all of them wounded in some terrible way, their grim faces a mute testimony to their suffering. Aelemar shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but he could not. Was there no end to this madness? Would he have to live like this for the rest of his life?

"The death of your comrades was not your fault, Aelemar. You have no reason to feel guilty."

Aelemar didn't move; he knew who it was. "I was their leader, and by my actions and choices I lead them to their doom," he said dully, eyes still closed in pain. "Their spirit stones have not even been recovered. Their souls will waste away, without ever knowing the peace of the Infinity Circuit, or worse: they shall be consumed by Slannesh in the Warp."

He felt her hand take a hold of his, comforting him; she was the only Eldar who had noticed his return to the Craftworld, even if it was by a chance meeting. Both of his parents were dead; his Craftworld friends had most likely forgotten him or believed him to be gone forever.

"You are tormenting yourself for something you could not control," she whispered gently into his ear. "Your friends would not begrudge you for their deaths. The way of the Eldar path teaches us to forget and move on."

As she said these words, he faintly heard the sound of gunfire, of screams, the smell of blood, the oily feeling of smoke against his face. "I cannot forget," he said brokenly, as he tried to block out the sounds and images assailing him. His body had healed, but his emotional wounds had run deep.

She held him close to her, understanding his agony, his distress, trying to comfort him. He would heal, with time, but he would always carry his memories like a scar, reminding him and grieving him, but at the same time, lending him strength in the face of adversity.

"Come to my quarters for tonight, Aelemar. You will sleep more soundly on a warm bed than underneath a tree, out in the cold."

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So, there's Chapter 2! I know that this chapter didn't have much action in it, but I thought that it would make a good transition chapter from 1 to 3. I know that some of you are probably fed up with all of this attention to Aelemar's emotional stress, but the next Chapter will have him on the road to recovery. I hope I didn't disappoint you after a week (or two) of waiting.


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